


Honors Thesis (4970H) – required course

by BellaTheReal



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Married Life, Original Character Narrator - Freeform, Professor Jack, could be an AU altogether or post-retirement jack, it's in the future though, outside pov, up to you i dont get into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaTheReal/pseuds/BellaTheReal
Summary: Marisol needs to write her honors thesis but she put off asking a faculty advisor. Dr. Jack Zimmermann is an intimidating professor, but as Marisol procrastinates her way through the essay, she sees there's much more to the man everyone on campus either fears or wants to bang.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, original lesbian couple lol
Comments: 42
Kudos: 390





	Honors Thesis (4970H) – required course

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun little thing, i love outside POV

He was an intimidating guy, to say the least, he was tall and wide and obviously worked out even though he was graying at the temples and hid his physique often with suits. But as a professor? Looking Dr. Zimmermann in the eye was a difficult task. For Marisol, anyway. She knew that a lot of people in the class were usually glazed over and staring at Dr. Zimmermann in a very un-scholarly way. Objectively she understood the appeal, and even as a lesbian, she was definitely surprised by the-- er, pertness? Of Dr. Zimmermann’s back end. Though that was a rare sight, because he often stood behind his podium as he lectured, adjusting his glasses every now and again as he droned on and on about the Gilded Age. Even still, Dr. Zimmermann was not a man who had office hour lines out the door since people often gave his glares a wide berth, though Marisol suspected that that was just his face. 

Dr. Zimmermann’s lecture on the Gilded Age was a specialized course, one of the last that Marisol had to take before she ventured on her last semester where she would take on a thesis project and defend it to graduate. 

Ugh. Even the word thesis sent chills down her spine. She was a procrastinator by trade and it was starting to get more and more difficult to pull off one-nighters. It was to her detriment, and even her girlfriend would get on her back about it, though they didn’t understand the process! Marisol needed the stress of a deadline just around the corner to get any motivation to write. 

However, this also meant that Marisol had left off a very important task. She needed a faculty member to supervise her research and writing, to keep her on a schedule, and Dr. Zimmermann was… honestly? A last resort. 

She’d wanted to ask her Minority History professor but apparently everyone on campus had the same idea. 

“I’m sorry, Marisol,” Dr. Kapule had said, looking genuinely distressed at having to turn a student down, “I have about fifteen students I’m supervising-- that’s the most I’m willing to take.”

Marisol had understood, of course, but now she was standing in front of Dr. Zimmermann’s office, her gut churning at the prospect of another rejection. She didn’t know anyone who had had Dr. Zimmermann as a faculty supervisor, which only had made her more nervous. 

She knocked, waited for the cue, and entered. Dr. Zimmermann didn’t look up from his computer until Marisol was sat down. 

Dr. Zimmermann’s office was, surprisingly, nicely decorated. It seemed out of character, the art on the walls, the plants on surfaces here and there. The photos hung up were of who Marisol imagined were his friends, family. Past students? There were some on Dr. Zimmermann’s desk as well but they were faced to him. 

“Marisol, right?” Dr. Zimmermann said, pulling Mari out of her thoughts. She was surprised that he even remembered her and clearly he saw that because there was a ghost of a smile on his face as he sat back in his chair, “You got into that debate with uh, Kyle, I think is his name. About why the Gilded Age was one of the hardest for minorities, you really know your stuff. I always appreciate that.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Zimmermann,” Marisol said, feeling less nervous than before. Okay, so she was in his good books, at least, “I actually came here to talk about-- well, I’m graduating next year and I need to write a thesis and I was going to ask Dr. Kapule but then she had like so many so now I need a faculty advisor still and you’re the only other professor I think would--” 

Dr. Zimmermann sat up a bit, “I don’t want to interrupt, Marisol, but you seem worried so I want to say that I’d be happy to supervise your thesis. We can get together periodically to discuss your topic and potential sources, I’ll be as much help as I can but your writing is already pretty good. A bit rushed sometimes... “    
  
Marisol didn’t appreciate the callout, but Dr. Zimmermann continued, “I’m not as popular as Dr. Kapule so I only have 3 other students I’m working with, but I’ll be as much help as I can.” 

“Okay-- Okay! Thank you, thank you so much, sir. I really appreciate that!” Marisol was practically bouncing in her seat as they exchanged contact information and a time to meet again. 

  
Dr. Zimmermann was going to be the best supervisor ever! 

  
  


***

Dr. Zimmermann was the worst supervisor ever. 

Not because he was hard to get a hold of, or difficult to talk to, but because he was a man of order and organization. He had a schedule she was set to follow, not with due dates or anything but check points. And while he didn’t grade her on that, she could see it in his face how he was annoyed or upset when she came to him without a source read or without an outline done. 

It was like disappointing one of her mothers. He would just sigh, nod, and say “Okay, Marisol, but I know you can do better.” 

She was preparing for that again, as she walked into Dr. Zimmermann’s office, her outline half finished but the alfajores in her hands completely polished and baked to perfection. They were her Hail Mary chance at winning Dr. Zimmermann’s favor and mercy. 

As she sat down in the familiar chair in his office, which was enjoying a new addition of a bouquet of flowers, if she looked close enough she could see the note still attached, a big heart drawn with a -B to the side. Must’ve been from Dr. Zimmermann’s wife, then. That was cute. More people should get their husbands flowers. Marisol set the cookies on Dr. Zimmerann’s desk and prepared herself to plead for her life.

Marisol cleared her throat, “First I wanted to ask that you enjoy one of these alfajores, they’re my mother’s recipe. Passed down generation to generation…” 

Dr. Zimmermann didn’t skip a beat, “Where is your outline, Marisol?”

“Well, you see,” Marisol started, as she always did. 

Dr. Zimmermann sighed and took off his glasses, folded them with one hand, and set them aside. This was it, he was going to drop her and she wouldn’t graduate on time. 

However… Dr. Zimmermann’s usual “I’m-disappointed-look-at-how-my-brow-is-furrowed” face melted away after a glance at a photo on his desk. 

“I’m giving you a hard due-date for this outline. Next Friday, if you don’t have it in to me by then I am going to take what you have and I will grade it accordingly and consider it part of your final grade.” Dr. Zimmermann said after a moment. 

Any other person would be horrified, but the idea of a solid due date for an assignment… Marisol knew what Dr. Zimmermann was doing and she appreciated it. Neatly-packaged stress that would get her to write her paper. 

“I better go get started on that then,” Marisol said as she grabbed her bags. And when she reached for the plate, Dr. Zimmermann pulled them closer to himself, “I’d like to take these home, if that’s okay. My husband is a baker and I’m sure he’d love to try these. They look good.” 

Marisol’s mind went offline for a second but when she was back, she just beamed at Dr. Zimmermann and gladly left the alfajores behind. 

Marisol whipped her phone out at the soonest chance she got and started furiously texting Yvette, ‘ _ H… HE’S GAY…!’  _

***

The rest of her journey was a difficult one, even with Dr. Zimmermann set hard deadlines and due dates for her, being strict and unforgiving. Though if something happened to where Marisol truly couldn’t make the deadline, he was still understanding. 

With his guidance and patience, Marisol finished a fifty page thesis on the exclusionary undertones of feminism throughout its inception to modern day. It was amazing, and Dr. Zimmermann even paid for Marisol and her girlfriend to go to a conference in New York that had to do with her topic towards the end of the semester. They sung his praises while getting drunk in a drag bar after having spent the day taking many notes on many historical subjects. 

Her thesis had been accepted the day prior, and now Marisol and Yvette were heading to Dr. Zimmermann’s home to enjoy dinner with the other thesis students who had finished. She was excited both because she was done with her work, and also she was so eager to see what Dr. Zimmermann’s home looked like. 

“I bet everything is one color,” Yvette said as she examined the wine that they’d just bought, “And he has like, a man-cave. Or something.” 

“No way he’s not a man-cave type of guy that’s regressive,” Marisol frowned, “Besides, he’s got a husband, he must have good taste.” 

“His husband could also be another boring history professor who’s monotone can put a lecture hall to sleep…” 

“Not Dr. Zimmermann’s fault that you have a bad sleep schedule.” 

The slight bickering, teasing, and flirting went on for the rest of their uber ride to Dr. Zimmermann’s home in a rather fancy part of town. They walked up the pathway to the colonial, the lawn expertly laid out with a lush garden full of flowers and hints of vegetable growing around the corner. It was like the American dream but even better because, well. Gay! 

Yvette was charmed as well, even with the corny welcome mat that said “Hey Y’all!”. Marisol rang the doorbell and they stood back, and soon Dr. Zimmermann was at the door, letting them in, “Marisol it’s good to see you-- and you must be Yvette. I think I owe you a life debt for keeping Marisol on schedule towards the end there.” 

Yvette laughed and shook Dr. Zimmermann’s hand, “It’s all in a day’s work--uh, this is for you.” She held out the wine which Dr. Zimmerann took and thanked her for. Marisol knew that he was just being polite, since it was clearly Trader Joes $2 wine, but even still they felt welcomed and Dr. Zimmermann walked them to the kitchen where everyone was currently chatting. 

It was surprising to see Dr. Zimmermann so relaxed. His suit and tie was replaced with a soft looking sweater and jeans. The house was warm and cozy, nothing like what they’d imagined. And there was no sign of a man cave, at least.

“Now when I tell y’all that I was the  _ worst  _ student, I am not kidding--” a voice with a delightful twang to it was sounding out from the kitchen and when Marisol and Yvette turned the corner they met the famous “Dr. Zimmermann’s Husband”. 

To say they were opposites would’ve been an understatement, but it only endeared the pair more as Dr. Zimmermann planted himself close to his husband, smiling down at the blond like he was the only person in the room. Yvette grabbed Marisol’s hand and squeezed, she understood. They were fucking adorable. 

***

“Marisol,” Mr. Zimmermann (call me Bitty!) said as he sat down close to her with a glass of wine, “I have to ask you for the recipe for those cookies you brought Jack once, they were amazing.”    
  


“Oh! Of course-- um, thank you. For the compliment.” Marisol turned a little, facing Bitty better, “And thank you for the soup last month. Dr. Zimmermann said you insisted that I have some. And it really did make my cold shorter I think.” 

Bitty smiled, “Well now it’s my turn to say of-course. You know, Jack spoke about you all the time. He tells me about all his kids-- sorry-- young adults, but your name came up the most. He tries to say that he doesn’t play favorites but he always does.” 

“Who always does what?” Jack said as he came over to sit on the arm of the sofa behind Bitty. And like they were magnets, Bitty immediately leaned back against his husband. It reminded Marisol about how she always wanted to be touching Yvette. Even now, as Yvette was engrossed in a conversation about Dadaism, they were holding hands. 

“I was just talkin’ about how you’re a big softie,” Bitty said, and Jack laughed. Marisol could count on one hand how many times she’d heard Dr. Zimmermann laugh during her time at school, but in the time they’d been in the Zimmermann household? She’d lost count. 

“Marisol, I have to tell you,” Jack said, “The only reason I didn’t get extremely frustrated with your procrastination is that I married the world’s worst one.” 

Bitty scoffed, “Mean! Don’t you tease me in front of your students.” 

  
Jack smiled and his hand rested on Bitty shoulder, “I mean it. She came to me with the cookies and a story about how she couldn’t get her outline done and it was like talking to you in senior year all over again. I knew exactly how Dr. Atley felt.”

The two husbands fell into conversation, and Marisol was just glad to watch these men be completely in love with each other. 

When Yvette and Marisol made their leave, they were a little wine-drunk and leaning against each other. On their way home in the uber, Yvette just sighed as she leaned her head against Marisol, “I wanna be like them.” She said softly. 

Marisol’s hand found her girlfriend’s and she squeezed, “We will be.” 


End file.
